


audience participation

by highoctane



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: M/M, The Perfect Pokerap, fluff with a smut chaser, let brian david gilbert sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highoctane/pseuds/highoctane
Summary: Crafting the perfect Pokerap takes time, and a little help, and a little inspiration from an unlikely place.





	audience participation

Pat realizes it before Brian does, but he's not sure if it's because of wisdom on his part or sheer stubbornness on Brian's.

Pat's gentle _I don't think you're going to be able to get them all in, Bri_ , spoken after a few pointed seconds of staring over Brian's shoulder as he, in turn, stares at his master spreadsheet, elicits only soft snort and a groan as Brian finally, finally, moves to roll his neck on his shoulders.

"Phrasing, Patrick," he says. More of a mumble, really, because it's going on two in the morning because they'd both gone to work and then Patrick had streamed, and then dinner, and then they'd tried to watch an episode of _Russian Doll_ , but halfway through Brian had pulled out his laptop because _I just thought of something and I have to get it down, okay, just a minute_. Ten minutes later, Pat had turned off Netflix and picked up his phone.

Which had brought him here, having exhausted the possibilities of the post-midnight internet crowd. When even the west coast is turning in, that's when it gets really dark out there in the Twitter wilds. Pat doesn't want to be eaten by a grue. Besides, it's officially Wednesday now, and they both nominally have to work in a few hours. Or, rather, Patrick will work, and Brian will continue doing this: staring at a spreadsheet, occasionally humming in a rhythmic monotone, sometimes going on wild Wikipedia deep dives. Well, at work he'll probably be wearing pants, is the only difference.

Brian's shoulder is tense, when Pat runs his fingertips along it—gentle, just in case Brian really _had_ been in that fugue state where all his best ideas gestate in the darkness before they come squalling and kicking into the light. Brian breathes in through his nose, a big gulp of air before he lets it all out through his lips when Pat presses in with his thumb.

"Yeah?" Pat questions, and Brian's head hangs limply as he nods.

"Yeah, please," he says, and Pat gets to work with his other hand too, spanning Brian's shoulders and pushing in with his thumbs where the muscles are so tight they feel like rope.

Brian grunts quietly as Pat seeks out the worst of it, only moving to take off his glasses and fold them on his laptop keyboard. Pat's not, like, a wizard with his hands or anything, but he's intimately familiar with the point you hit when literally _any_ touch will do, and Brian's there. Pat just follows the noises, not shying away when Brian sucks air through his teeth because that's when you know you're getting somewhere. He doesn't have to be gentle. Brian's not in the mood for it when he's like this, always pushing himself harder, wanting more, enduring more, in everything.

While he pushes and pulls at the corded muscle of Brian's shoulders, Pat scans the spreadsheet. It's just as obtuse as every time he's looked at it, a dense wall of names evoking varying degrees of recognition. Brian's explained the structure—rhyme, meter, _emotional resonance, Patrick_ —but the document's so in flux that he'd have to look at it for a long time to re-find his bearings.

"Tell me about it," he says, instead, because talking usually knocks something loose in Brian's brain. He thinks with his mouth.

The muscles under Pat's hands bunch up as Brian rubs the corners of his eyes. "I _can_ get them all in," he admits, picking up Pat's hook. "I just don't think I _should_. Even if I can get ninety Pokemon per minute, that's still, like, _nine minutes_? Even without any original lyrics?" His voice goes up at the end, incredulous.

"Some people'd lose their nut over exactly that, though," Pat replies, drawing him out.

Brian's hand stirs the air listlessly. "And they'd be right to do so," he concedes, "but it wouldn't be _funny_."

Pat makes an encouraging noise as he travels his fingertips down Brian's shoulderblades, following the tension where it ebbs down his back. Brian groans and moves forward, pillowing his head on his arms while Pat prods at him mercilessly.

"So it's like, do I go for completion, or do I lean into the bit, Pat? Because it's gotta be—hn, _ouch_ —funny, or it’ll be boring, but if I don't literally name all of them then why even bother in the first place?"

Patrick laughs under his breath. "Can you imagine, someone who just, like, _really_ fuckin' loves Bidoof, " he says, then pitches his voice low in mockery, "what the fuck, he missed three-point-eight-percent of the known Pokemon, I want my thirty minutes back."

Brian giggles and runs with it, effortlessly, like he does: “Breach of contract! He's gotta do all the—" Brian tenses and lifts his head from his arms like a shot fired. "Oh, shit, no, that's actually good, like, the volunteers are literally called _Enforcers, Patrick_ —"

"I've got it. I'll remember," Pat soothes him, using his hands already on Brian's shoulders to keep him from reaching for his laptop. "Sit back, let me do your front."

Brian groans in frustrated motivation but leans back in his chair, tilting his head so he's looking up at Pat, albeit with his eyes closed. The light of his laptop screen picks out the blue veins under his eyelids, a spiderweb of anxieties. Pat follows the sharp line of his collarbones down his chest, pressing in more gently here where muscle and bone are so close.

"Promise," Brian sighs, a request.

"I won't forget it," Pat promises.

The fabric of Brian's shirt wrinkles and unwrinkles under his fingers until he slips his hand up, and then down under the neck, finally sliding his palm down Brian's chest to where he's warm and just a little tacky from the day, where his heart beats underneath. His fingertips just barely graze a nipple, conspicuously casual. 

" _Patrick_ ," Brian says again, smiling without opening his eyes.

"Brian," Pat replies, just as simple. Just as easy. It's late and he's tired, and Brian is too, and he misses his… his _Brian_ , a little bit, if he's being honest; and his shirt is so thin, and his expression is so trusting, and all it takes is to twist his wrist and the top two buttons pop free and reveal a tantalizing sliver of Brian's chest.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Patrick?" Brian murmurs, slitting his eyes open to look up at Pat with a heavy-lidded gaze.

"I wasn't, but I am now," Pat admits, and curls his fingers so his nails scratch lightly at the downy wisps of hair that dot Brian's chest. "How am I doing?"

Brian huffs, his smile twisting mischievously. "You're gonna have to beat my spreadsheet."

Patrick swallows. Takes a breath. He's not used to this part, but he's getting there. "Let me make you come," he says, quietly. He knows it's not—it's not like he's ashamed; the crucible of streaming has scourged a lot of that out of him—it's just, he's a private person. But, Brian makes him want to try. To reach, harder, for the things he wants. It's different with guys—with _Brian_ —but he likes it.

Brian's smile gains teeth. "Ooh," he croons, which makes Pat laugh, and then Brian laughs, and together they make it all of the five feet back to Pat's bed, smiling and giggling at each other the whole time as Brian arranges his long self out against Pat's pillows.

Pat kneels between his legs, first running his hands up Brian's thighs and into the legholes of his boxers, continuing the massage even here as he squeezes and runs his hands back down to his knees. Brian hums in satisfaction and shimmies until Pat gets the hint, hooking his fingers in the elastic of Brian's boxers and pulling them completely off.

Brian's not—he's not _hard_ , obviously, it's been like a minute since this was on the table at all, and as a professional dick-haver himself Pat knows it's not personal—but it looks like he could get there, yeah, so Pat licks his palm and gives Brian a soft squeeze. Brian hums and lets his knees fall open—he's so flexible, he could get them all the way to the mattress if he tried, but honestly it's just as good to see him soft and relaxed in Pat's bed, just taking his due instead of showing off.

Though the showing off is good, too, when he's in the mood for it.

"Do you think it's cheating if I rhyme all the bats with one another?" Brian murmurs, and Pat has to stifle a laugh.

"Don't you dare," Pat orders, through his grin.

"Sorry, sorry," Brian sighs distractedly as Pat starts to stroke him a little harder. "I might have to, though… mm… go faster?"

"You got it," Pat says, and does.

Brian's an exemplary partner, even half-asleep and the other half thinking about Pokemon. He runs his own hands over his body, scratching his thighs, disappearing up under his shirt to play with his nipples, reaching out to rub his thumb over the inside of Pat's wrist. It’s kind of slow-going in the dick department, not Brian’s usual firecracker pace, but it’s weirdly nice. Pat links their fingers and leans in when Brian's dick's finally got a bit more heft to it, taking it in his mouth to the sound of Brian melting in relaxation above him.

Brian's other hand comes up to run through Pat's hair, just like he likes it, pulling it back from Pat's face so it stays out of the way—and so, Pat hopes, Brian can see his face, how much Pat really does love doing this to him. For him.

"Mmn," Brian encourages, tightening and relaxing his grip on Pat's hair as Pat gets into it, working his way through what he knows Brian likes. It's really easy, honestly, which Pat had learned once he’d wrapped his brain around _it_ at all. Brian makes it easy. Brian makes it _good_.

"Can I..." Brian starts, closing his fist and pushing at Pat's head a little.

Pat's got his mouth full, obviously, but the noise he manages gets the point across. Brian breathes out all shaky as he takes control of Pat's pace, pulling him up, pushing him down, a gentle rocking rhythm that doesn't ever go too deep. Light, and delicate, but steady.

Pat could keep this pace up forever, honestly, if Brian would let him. If Brian would lie still long enough to let Pat communicate with his body what he has trouble forming into words, sometimes. _Let me make you come_ is one, but also _I want to make you feel as good in this way as you make me feel in every way_ , and _you're the most incredible person I've ever met and the fact that I get to do this with you is some miracle of our modern world for bringing us together_.

Eventually, though, one has to admit: there's the figurative _forever_ , and then there's just a plain _long-ass time_ , and though Pat could probably do the former easily, the latter's a bit more of a stretch. There's an event horizon, a critical mass, an escape velocity to these things, and Brian seems to realize it around the same time Pat does: said point is stretching away from them faster than Brian can—or wants to—chase after it.

After a few more minutes of this, Brian lets out a long, soft sigh and lets go of Pat's hair, smoothing it down with gentle fingertips. "I'm sorry," he says, so quiet.

Pat stays close, kissing the side of Brian's dick even as it softens under his lips. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Brian admits, throwing his arm over his eyes. "It felt—it felt really good, Pat, it's just—"

"It's okay," Pat reassures him, "It's late, yeah?"

Brian nods. His lips are drawn together in a sad line.

"Hey, hey," Pat says, crawling up to blanket Brian with his body and press a prim little kiss right on the corner of his frowning mouth. "It's okay," he repeats. "You wanna just go to sleep?"

Brian breathes in, and then out slowly, and then in again before answering. "You're hard," he says, finally, and Pat shifts around like: oh, yeah, he guesses he is, still.

"It's alright. I don't have to be," he says, lifting himself up a little so he's not prodding Brian in the stomach like the world's friendliest and most ineffective shiv. "I don't even have to, like, take care of it, let's just get under the—"

"No," Brian cuts him off, but gently, taking his arm off of his eyes to take Pat's face in his hands instead. "No, I want to—" he starts, then blows out all his air and admits, "I'm still thinking about the fucking _Pokemon_ , Pat. _Please_ , give me something to really focus on."

Pat does laugh at that, and leans down to kiss Brian properly. "Jesus Christ, you're such a fucking nerd," he says into the kiss, and Brian nips at his lip in retaliation as he laughs too, helplessly. 

"Lemme suck your dick, Pat," Brian singsongs as he shimmies out from underneath, pushing Pat until he's laid out on the bed instead, Brian kneeling astride one of his legs wearing only his button-down and a wicked look. 

Pat's wearing the sweatpants he changed into when he got home, and Brian reaches down to rub him through the soft, well-loved fabric of them. Pat sighs and shifts down, letting his thighs fall open as Brian kneads him with both hands. Which is all well and good, honestly, but if Brian's already tired, then that just makes it double well and triple good when he feels Brian's clever fingers tug down the waistband of his sweatpants until his dick swings free like it's just _real_ excited to be here.

The wicked look on Brian's face melts away into a fond smile as he runs his finger up the underside of Pat's dick, tracing just the edge of his nail around the sensitive rim of the head.

Pat grimaces as Brian teases him, too lightly, feeling himself twitch under the attention. "Hey, if you're gonna—"

"Sssh," Brian interrupts him, taking his hand off Pat entirely and not meeting his eye, looking for all the world like he’s completely arrested in thought.

"Brian, what—"

" _Ssssh,_ " Brian shushes him again, more firmly, this time holding his finger up to drive the point home. He stares at Pat's lap with a frown. "Sssh. No audience participation, Pat Gi—"

Brian sucks in a breath so long and so loud, Pat sincerely worries he's realized something horrifying and dick-related. "What—" he tries again, sitting up with alarm beginning to prickle at his throat.

Brian's hand slaps down on his mouth, forcing him back down into the bed. His eyes are alight, a smile on his lips that cracks him open like the sun's shining right into Pat's face. " _No audience participation,_ " he repeats, loudly, looking half-possessed in the light from the laptop screen, before scrambling off of Pat's lap in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

Pat drops his head against his pillow with a put-upon sigh. "Jesus, Bri," he groans, and Brian cackles from where he's sitting bare-assed on Patrick's desk chair.

"Okay, no, I've got it this time," Brian says, all in a rush. "I've just—I just really have to get this down, okay, it's a huge part, this is huge, okay, I'm just gonna chase it—"

Pat sits up and swings his legs off the bed, pulling his sweatpants back up over his (now thoroughly disinterested) dick. He pulls the quilt off the bed and throws it at Brian. "I'm going to sleep. Don't get stuck to my chair," he grumbles, but the flustered smile he catches right at the edge of Brian's profile is worth it.

"Love you too," Brian chirps, and Pat smiles as he lies back down and tries to sleep through the glare of the screen and Brian tapping away well into the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in the fandom! Hi! Please leave comment if you liked it! <3 <3


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